A Bushel Full
There's someone who was once close to me,
I told them to kick rocks and leave me be.
They think that I am unawares,
that I don't know who is there.
Watching every move I make,
breathing with every breath I take.
The apples from the tree they do tell,
as they rot where they fell.
The bees all buzzing around the sweetness,
the rotten apple is what pleases.
Not too far from her tree,
all the bees want to sting me.
I will wait until winter comes,
when the bees no longer hum.
And all the leaves,
have left her tree.
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